Arthur J. Caplan

In the book Exploiting Hope: How the Promise of New Medical Interventions Sustains Us—and Makes Us Vulnerable, Jeremy Snyder takes on the dominant theory that exploitation in research ethics involves culpable inequity in transactions between parties. He rightly dismisses that economic explanation as inadequate. His theory of exploitation argues that it happens when those who have a duty of beneficence to someone take advantage of their hope. Exploitation is not just an unfair transaction; it is a betrayal of an obligation owed to the vulnerable, weak, or dependent to protect them. Snyder is persuasive. But only to a point. He helps us understand the betrayal involved in exploiting hope. But much more remains to be debated about hope and exploitation. Exploitation in health care is not just a matter of schemers and ne'er‐do‐wells playing fast and loose with ever‐hopeful patients. Sometimes it involves patient groups looking for the right to try any intervention, no matter how dangerous or outlandish, at government expense.

Healthcare rationing during pandemics has been widely discussed in global bioethics literature. However, existing scenarios and analyses have focused on high income countries, except for very few disease areas such as HIV treatment where some analyses related to African countries exist. We argue that the lack of scholastic discourse, and by extension, professional and democratic engagement on the subject constitute an unacceptable ethical omission. Not only have African governments failed to develop robust ethical plans for pandemics, ethicists in this region have been unable to ignite public discourse on rationing. Therefore, we aim to initiate a debate on how rationing health and social goods could be done ethically in Ghana during the current and future pandemics. The paper discusses and critiques some moral considerations (utilitarian, equity, equal worth, urgent need, and the prioritarian principles) for rationing and their relevance in the Ghanaian context. This contribution may facilitate ethical decision-making during the current (COVID-19) pandemic - in Ghana and other African settings where hardly any rationing guidelines exist.

Constantin Reliu had been working for twenty years as a cook in Turkey when he returned to his hometown of Barlad, Romania, to discover that, there, he was dead. His former wife had, unbeknownst to him, at some point during his stay in Turkey registered him as deceased in Romania. He has since been living a legal nightmare trying to prove to Romanian authorities that he is, in fact, alive. Reliu is not alone in finding out that the legal system is not as attuned to physiological activity or biological assessment by doctors in determining death as one might think. If one starts with the assumption that death is a purely biological concept, solely the province of doctors, Reliu's story seems entirely unrelated to the concept of death in the medical context. A brain scan would not lead to a reversal of his being assessed as dead. The story is a reminder, however, that how death is used is not just biological, and therefore that the standard of death even in the clinic must answer to cultural considerations. Values, the law, and custom matter a great deal in determining who is alive and who is not, whether in the courtroom, the coroner's office, or the clinic.

A quiet revolution is occurring in the field of transplantation. Traditionally, transplants have involved solid organs such as the kidney, heart and liver which are transplanted to prevent recipients from dying. Now transplants are being done of the face, hand, uterus, penis and larynx that aim at improving a recipient's quality of life. The shift away from saving lives to seeking to make them better requires a shift in the ethical thinking that has long formed the foundation of organ transplantation. The addition of new forms of transplants requires doctors, patients, regulators and the public to rethink the risk and benefit ratio represented by trade-offs between saving life, extending life and risking the loss of life to achieve improvements in the quality of life.

The parents of Charlie Gard, who was born August 4, 2016, with an exceedingly rare and incurable disease called mitochondrial DNA depletion syndrome, fought a prolonged and heated legal battle to allow him access to experimental treatment that they hoped would prolong his life and to prevent his doctors from withdrawing life-sustaining care. Charlie's clinicians at the Great Ormond Street Hospital in London believed that the brain damage Charlie had suffered as a result of frequent epileptic seizures, along with many other severe disabilities, would render any innovative therapy futile, and they disagreed with his parents’ wishes to use an experimental therapy. They felt it in Charlie's best interest that he be allowed to die. A battle ensued among Charlie's parents, his doctors, and a guardian who had been appointed to represent him that drew the attention of politicians and prominent persons from all over the world. The case was much in the news over the past year, but it has also been frequently misunderstood.

The movement to try to close the ever-widening gap between demand and supply of organs has recently arrived at the prison gate. While there is enthusiasm for using executed prisoners as sources of organs, there are both practical barriers and moral concerns that make it unlikely that proposals to use prisoners will or should gain traction. Prisoners are generally not healthy enough to be a safe source of organs, execution makes the procurement of viable organs difficult, and organ donation post-execution ties the medical profession too closely to the act of execution.

Over 90% of the organs transplanted in China before 2010 were procured from prisoners. Although Chinese officials announced in December 2014 that the country would completely cease using organs harvested from prisoners, no regulatory adjustments or changes in China’s organ donation laws followed. As a result, the use of prisoner organs remains legal in China if consent is obtained. We have collected and analysed available evidence on human rights violations in the organ procurement practice in China. We demonstrate that the practice not only violates international ethics standards, it is also associated with a large scale neglect of fundamental human rights. This includes organ procurement without consent from prisoners or their families as well as procurement of organs from incompletely executed, still-living prisoners. The human rights critique of these practices will also address the specific situatedness of prisoners, often conditioned and traumatized by a cascade of human rights abuses in judicial structures. To end the unethical practice and the abuse associated with it, we suggest to inextricably bind the use of human organs procured in the Chinese transplant system to enacting Chinese legislation prohibiting the use of organs from executed prisoners and making explicit rules for law enforcement. Other than that, the international community must cease to abet the continuation of the present system by demanding an authoritative ban on the use of organs from executed Chinese prisoners.